Chapter 36

Sam sighed, Barry Gilman the accountant had been hexed by a witch, stuffing him so full of cash that he had choked on it.

The night before, Dean had run into that witch at the local bar, after ordering burgers, riding a mechanical bull and generally "being himself." Dean being Dean he had also recognised the witch from one of the photos on Barry's wall and chased him into the woods.

Apparently then the witch had cursed Dean with some sort of progressive memory loss curse.

At first labelling things with post-it-notes had been sort of funny. (A tribute to the movie memento.)

Dean had been sort of funny as well, like a little kid, full of wonder at the details of their life, as if it was some adventure story... or maybe a work of fiction come to life. There had been moments when Sam had actively envied his brother, the weight seemed to have fallen from his shoulders, leaving him free.

Rowena's advice, to undo the curse, kill the witch. It didn't seem too hard. A job they were getting to anyway.

But the witch was already dead. The men of letters files had nothing and Sam was at a loss.

More than that, the curse was progressing and Sam could see parts of Dean slipping away before his eyes.
All he could hope was that Rowena would recognise the glyph they'd found in the woods, that somehow she could give them a clue on how to break the curse.
Sending off the message, Sam swallowed and glanced worriedly at his brother, noting the slump to Deans shoulders, then back at the laptop.

There was an email from Michele waiting. Distraction.

"We've got mail Dean"

Dean looked up and offered him a smile. As if Sam had given him a gift.

Sam cleared his throat and began reading

"Hello and how are my two most favourite boys in all of America?"

"It's an email from Mom?" Dean asked, with the most heart breakingly hopeful smile.

Sam opened his mouth to correct his brother, then suddenly, he just didn't have the heart to tell Dean the email was from a stranger on the other side of the world, that they hadn't heard from their mother for days (Dean'd demanded they didn't tell her or Cas about the curse, not that they'd told Michele anything either… and it appeared she was in the dark) but even so, their Mom wasn't given to sending emails like this one.

Dean wandered over, one hand resting on his little brother's shoulder reading the words for himself and listening to his brother read at the same time.

"I find myself awake tonight and thinking of you both, of the things you have done and what good men you both are. Dean Winchester, that statement is true whether you believe me or not, and Sam don't roll your eyes.

Of all people on earth right now, I would know, wouldn't I? -Half smile- I know you boys aren't given to 'chick flick' moments, but let's face it I'm a chick and a mother, so I'll write what I want, and if you read it, that's up to you."

Sam rubbed his hand over his eyes, aware of the gulf between 'his' Dean and the one leaning against his shoulder. By now 'his' Dean would have made a snarky comment or moved away, uncomfortable with the emotion and continued contact. Briefly, he allowed himself to lay his hand over Deans on his shoulder. Soaking up the warmth in his brothers calloused hand. Swallowing past a jumble of emotions, he cleared his throat and continued reading.

"Life has so often given you lemons, but somehow you manage to make not just lemonade but Limoncello, (which is something I had to look up, it's an Italian lemon liquor, in this world one thing is certain, if it's not poisonous, someone with enough drive will make alcohol out of it. *grin*)

Not only that, somehow you use it to save the world. Not figuratively but in actual fact. Well ok, usage of lemon products is figurative... But the saving the world is and was real.

You are quite literally the reason the sun shines. So, look up at it once in a while and remember that and be proud... ok? Maybe not everyone knows, but I do. So, for all the people that don't know, on their behalf… I want to say you boys are amazing and Thank You.

M"

Sam cleared his throat and looked back across his shoulder at his brothers face. For a second Dean seemed to stand straighter, a glow to his face.
Then, his eyes went unfocused, again, as the curse took a firmer grip of his mind. He let go of his brothers shoulder and wandered away across the room.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes, an ache filling his chest. Stupid emails were all very well, but they weren't going to help, no matter how well intentioned.

Sam opened the photo of the dead witch again, as much to stare at the dead man and hope he suffered, as to look for clues.

...

Dean wandered back into the room from the bathroom catching sight of the computer screen and the photo of the dead witch.

"Is that a dead guy?" He asked sounding slightly astonished.

"Yeah."

"Whoa! Never seen a dead guy before." Dean enthused leaning against the door jamb behind his brother.

Sam chuckled humourlessly "Uh, yeah, you have. Trust me." he winced and sighed.

There was a knock at the door. Dean bounded over to answer it, no caution at all.

"Hey! No, D-Dean, wait a second." Sam cautioned leaping to his feet, drawing his gun. But Dean had already opened it.

There stood Rowena.

Dean looked at Rowena without recognition, shot his brother a querying look.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Spell's progressed, I see." Rowena commented as she invited herself in.

"I wanted Intel, Rowena, not a house call." Sam fumed

"Oh, I have a feeling you'll come to thank me." Rowena told Sam mildly, turning to Dean and began to examine him.

Dean looked back at her happily "Mm, your hair, it's all so ... bouncy." He chirped.

"Why, thank you. Mm-hmm." She purred "Do we have to fix him?" She asked shooting Sam an amused half pleading look.

"Rowena." Sam grated in warning.

"Samuel." She re-joined mildly.

"Those glyphs you found are an archaic form of Celtic. Ogham Chraobh. The Druids used it in their rituals, calling it the "Language of the Trees."

"Wait, wait. Now the trees are talkin'?" Dean asked, seriously. Rowena gave him an amused contemptuous look. Suddenly Sam was mortified on his brother's behalf.

"Uh, Dean, do you remember HBO?"

"Um..."

"Cinemax?"

"Skinemax." Dean grinned like a five-year-old.

"Great. All right, come here. We're just gonna. We're gonna sit you down right here." He pushed him onto the bed and searched for the remote "And, uh, yeah, go ahead. Um..."

"Like live Skinemax or..." Dean queried.

Sam turned the TV on.

"Hey!" Dean chortled happily, his eyes lighting up at the kids cartoon.

"Perfect." He patted his brothers shoulder "Stay there."

"Come here." He beckoned Rowena towards the laptop.

"There's only one family of witches versed in this kind of magic. I thought them all dead for years, but when I saw those glyphs..."

"Is this one of 'em?" Sam asked, showing Rowena the photo of the dead witch.

"Gideon Loughlin." Rowena spat the name.

"Did you know him?"

"A bit." Rowena stated with a mild shrug.

"All right, tell me about this family."

"A hundred years ago, the Loughlins came over from the Old World and turned a small town on the Mississippi Delta into their own personal fiefdom. Their children - Gideon, Boyd, and Catriona - were like three rotten little peas in a pod. The family possessed a powerful spell book, a tome of Druidic magic called the Black Grimoire. Witches came from around the world to live with them and study its secrets... for a price."

"So, what happened to 'em?"

"Hunters happened." Rowena sounded almost glad. "Of course, I'd heard rumours one or two survived, stealing away with their book, but I-I dismissed them as gossip."

From the bed, Dean laughed at something infantile on the cartoon. Looked up, he grinned at them both, totally oblivious to the weight of the situation. Like a child. Sam and Rowena shared a look and Sam sighed.

"With Gideon dead, if you want to break the curse on your brother, we need to find that book."

"Wait a second. So, you can't break it?"

"Oh, of course I could, but witchcraft this complex would take time, more than Dean's got." They both looked over at Dean again. "He's already begun to forget himself, everyone he's ever known, ever loved. Even you. Soon he'll forget how to speak, how to swallow, and then... Dean Winchester's going to die."

"Sucks for that guy." Dean commented from his seat on the bed.

Sam tasted despair.

…..

Michele let out a strangled cry and fell to her knees, on the kitchen floor.

Pain, a blinding spike lancing her skull and blinding her eyes.

A quick deadly shuffle of images.

Herself, face set and stubborn, a blank Skype dialog box.

The redheaded witch, Rowena pinned to the wall, face battered and bloody. Body twisted gruesomely. Impaled with hundreds of shards of broken mirror, her hair nearly as red as the blood that had drained from her, with her life.

Sam's body tied to a chair also drained of blood, covered in runes… and achingly dead, while a man and a woman stood chanting over a very dead looking man, that suddenly drew breath and sat up with a self-satisfied smile.

Dean, eyes blank, mindless and absent, lying in the dirt by his beloved impala, taking a last rattling breath and then, just no more... Dead.

Again, an image of herself doing nothing. The Skype dialogue box empty of words.

Then, words. Filling a screen. A story finished. Completion and release... Freedom! The end.

An image of herself, much older with her arms round a young woman in a wedding dress and green eyed young man dressed in a tuxedo. Her precious son's wedding day. Her husband, daughters and youngest son all laughing and glowing with happiness.

Blood pattered, thick and red onto the mottled linoleum between her hands as Michele rocked back onto her knees. Dazed horrified and confused by the images.

Sam, Dean and Rowena, Dead?

No!

And yet... the vision seemed to indicate she'd be free... that there could be a happily ever after, for her…

Hard on the heels, a second series of images caught her unprepared.

An unbelievably vivid vision of her phones clock, the time indelibly etched into her mind.

Her fingers typing, filling a Skype dialog box with words, issuing instructions.

Rowena sitting at the laptop keyboard on the other end.

A pile of post-it notes in Rowena handwriting.

Dean waking up alone in the impala, post-it notes on the side window and windscreen, in the trunk, on the grenade launcher, witch killing bullets and gun.

Then, the sound of shots fired.

Sam pacing at the bottom of a flight of stairs, a red hued flash, then Dean and Rowena walking down the stairs.

A look of horror on Sam's face, that melted into a grudging smile.

The sound of both Winchester boys laughing. Alive.

An image of blood on her hands, on the floor, everywhere. Her son calling for her, muffled, distorted and far off.

Then, blackness.

The two series of visions came again and again faster and faster.

The message was clear.

Choose.

You have and out. But to get it, Sam and Dean Winchester die.

Or you can intervene, break cover… to a witch, tell her what to do and Sam and Dean Winchester will live. For now, but there's no promises of how this will end for you.

Michele looked at the clock. She had two hours to decide.